Perfectly Lonely
by seafeather-ono
Summary: A series of drabbles about the lovely Mafalda Hopkirk.
1. All Summer

**A/N:** Firstly, I am horrified that Mafalda doesn't have a character tag. Secondly, this may not make very much sense, but please read and review!

**Disclaimer:** Queen Rowling owns everything.

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Mafalda had been more than a little surprised to see Donavan wandering around York, and further shocked by his suggestion. She'd always wanted to work in the Ministry - not as an Auror, as so many of her schoolmates seemed to, especially after living with a few all year at school. No - Mafalda wanted to work in on of the regulatory departments, making the Wizarding World a safer place from the front end of it. Not putting a band-aid on the mess that had become of the world.

She'd known that was what she wanted ever since second year, when Professor Slughorn mentioned the regulations concerning certain potion ingredients. Ever since, Mafalda would play a little game, allowing or forbidding the things around her. The fireworks in the common room? Gone. That spell that cured toothache but turned hair green? Allowed. And yet Mafalda kept quiet, sure her classmates would tease her; that it would only add fuel to the "blabber mouth" fire. She wasn't sure why she'd kept quiet about it at home; perhaps because her Da seemed to think she'd find a place in the muggle world. It was shy she'd never had a summer internship - she was always too afraid to shatter this last dream of her father's. And she didn't mind, not really, being stuck in York because she really did love Selma and Alan, and she could never spend as much time as she'd like with them at Hogwarts. And Mafalda understood; she knew her siblings had their own lives and that perhaps having her as an older sister wasn't the most fun - she'd certainly never been "cool." So Mafalda cherished the two months of uninterrupted time with her sister and brother, forcing herself not to think of the opportunities she was missing.

She'd walked home after the chance meeting, sure this, too, would be an opportunity she'd let pass by. After all, this was the summer before her seventh year, her last summer before she had to find a job. She would have, too, if it hadn't been for Selma, who knew here sister better than anyone else did. Selma, who came and sat next to Mafalda on the sofa, and reminded her sister, "I _can_ watch Alan, you know. He's twelve, now, and I'm fifteen - not exactly needing my older sister."

And though it was true, Mafalda still felt a pang, that her younger siblings were all grown and no longer needed her all the time. Selma was not finished, however, and before Mafalda could open her mouth the younger girl was continuing on. "It's lovely, getting to see you, but we're okay, Alan and I. Everyone else has a mum or an aunt to watch them, and all the older students work." Mafalda began to protest, to say that she didn't mind, that she'd rather be with them, but then Alan came in from the other room, squeezing in-between his sisters. "We didn't," said Selma simply. "We had you, and we've not thought an ounce about your own career. And that's okay. I know that the internships are all filled, but that doesn't mean you can't find work at the Ministry or the Prophet. I'm sure one of Mum's old work friends could find something for you. So, Monday, you're going into London. And tonight, we'll tell Da. All of us, together." Mafalda stared at her siblings, lost for words, touched beyond belief.

"Love you, Mouse," said Alan, using the childhood nickname. "And I don't want you held back."

Her father had been surprisingly agreeable, especially when Mafalda mentioned the position in the Auror office. The interview, which Mafalda had carefully prepped for, was fairly straightforward, the brusque head of the department asking her name, age, and marks in school. Almost as an afterthought he asked, "And what's your opinion on blood purity?"

Looking him straight on, Mafalda answered carefully, "That purebloods are superior? Doesn't make very much sense, sir. I think a person's abilities and actions are far more important. Do they obey the law? Care for their family? Do what is right?"

A flicker of a smile crossed the auror's face, then he shoved a confidentiality agreement at Mafalda. "Weekdays, nine to five. And good luck."

It was, as Donavan had predicted, fairly boring work. Filing reports, transcribing notes, tracking down the account buried at the bottom of someone's desk. But the office was an exciting, busy place. Mafalda was assigned an empty cubicle, and even as she was busy copying information onto the proper forms and filing it where it belonged, Mafalda could hear snatches of the auror's conversations, It was like peering into a new world, a world that Mafalda loved and couldn't wait to join.


	2. Love and Loss

**A/N:** Firstly, I am beyond proud to have gotten Mafalada her character tag. Secondly, this is just a little thing for character depth.

**Disclaimer:** Queen Rowling owns everything.

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Mafalda sometimes felt as if her mum had never been real. As if the childhood memories of summer holidays and Sunday dinners and the occasional bedtime story were all some sort of dream she'd dreamed, a gap she'd tried to fill with hopes and wishes; as if none of it had ever happened. She knew, of course, that this was stupid, and that her mum had been real, had loved her family, and had cared about the world.

It was this last one that was difficult, because if Prudence Hopkirk hadn't cared so much - if she had cared about different things - if she had been more like her husband - then maybe, perhaps, she would still be alive. And Mafalda wouldn't miss her so much; she wouldn't have this gaping hole in her life. And she wouldn't hate her mum's curiosity and the fact that she'd never a drop a story once she started - because then maybe her mum wouldn't have started investigating the man just beginning to gather his Death Eaters…

There were a thousand ifs; but no real answers, and Mafalda hated it. Hated that there never would be answers. Hated that lately, it felt like she was spinning out of control. Above all else, Mafalda wanted her mother; wanted to be able to talk to someone who could offer advice, and comfort, and perhaps understand, more than anyone, just what she was going through. And though it just wasn't possible, though the practical, logical part of her brain knew it couldn't happen, she couldn't stop wanting it. And she didn't know if she ever could.


End file.
